


we are all supernovas

by SSAerial



Series: fire in my breath and soul [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And suspicious and concerned for Mick, Fire is life, Gen, Len is so fucking confused, Lisa is laughing at everyone, Metahuman Mick Rory, Mick can see people's souls, Mick is so done, My sweet insane pyromaniac cinnamon roll, Souls look like fire, This is a contradicting thing to process for Mick, meta!Mick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a man on fire.</p><p>It was the most fucking beautiful thing Mick’s ever seen in his life.</p><p>(Or, where Mick is a meta with the ability to see people’s souls through the interpretation of fire. Len doesn’t know, Lisa is Lisa, and wow, how the hell is that stringbean of a kid the Flash? Mick is just accepting all the weird shit happening in his life and fuck, what the hell was Lenny thinking dragging him into this damn mess? Basically, chaos all around.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are all supernovas

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, okay. I seriously couldn’t let this idea go and I just fucking love Mick Rory, especially after what happened in Legends of Tomorrow 1X07. He’s without doubt one of my favorite characters in the Arrowverse next to Snart. Like, fuck, I have a lot of feelings for this guy and jesus he’s a big fucking mess but god, I just can’t help but love his character. I’m probably continuing this, I have a few more ideas in my head on how this is going to go. I’m going to have to review and rewatch a hell lot of episodes since I skipped around a lot. Seriously, though, fantastic character and yeah, I should stop gushing now. My sweet, insane pyromaniac cinnamon roll, oh my fucking god.

When the particle explosion occurred, Mick had been way off at the outskirts of Central City. By all statistics, there should’ve been no way he could’ve been hit by the blast radius. In another world, this logic would follow through and Central would be standing without Mick in the picture until Leonard Snart swaggers in, offering an olive branch and a job to get rid of the scarlet speedster.

This universe was not one of them.

Mick had been outside, breathing a joint into scarred lungs that’s had years of abuse from smoke inhalation when playing with fire. It wasn’t a habit he really got into, but he enjoyed the high that came close to the euphoric feeling of watching flames flicker at the palm of his hands with a taste of the world burning around him for one perfect moment.

It was then that the wave of the blast hit.

Compared to the other to-be metas who were closer to the center of the big bang, Mick only got a whiff of the cumulating power that blasted outward, changing the course of history by the hands of a madman desperate to go home.

And in other worlds too, a change of location could’ve made him Heatwave with the ability to burst raging storms of fire from his body with his partner Captain Cold who could turn into a human icicle that befitted his cold and calculative personality. Mick would’ve been groaning on the ground in some abandoned warehouse alone close to STAR labs, molecules fluctuating frantically as it took in the chemical outbreak and tweaked his DNA so it could compensate for the drastic change, skin steaming and turning angry red.

That didn’t happen either.

Instead, the residue only shifted something at the back of his head that made Mick’s eyes burn with a sharp jolt of pain that abruptly had Mick drop to the floor, instantly unconscious.

Safely elsewhere, Snart glanced up at the sound of screams outside his old hideaway’s window, seeing a glimpse of the outbreak from where he comfortably sat on his coach. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, calculating the damage and what this could mean, before shrugging it off and continuing to plan his next heist in peace.

It wasn’t his problem anyway.

Later with hindsight, he would find this dismissive thought hilariously ironic.

And when Mick woke up, he would only find his wallet missing with his clothes still on, which he would pass off as luck. Still, it pissed him off that someone had the gall to rob him of all people. He stood up with little grace and screeched to a halt when something in front of him had him staring in both disbelief and awe.

_There was a man on fire._

Other senses registered in his mind, lurching him out of the mesmerized state he slipped into whenever the teasing, curling of flickering flames came close into his vicinity. He couldn’t smell any smoke or the stinging burning of flesh scraping off the muscles and bone, and he clearly couldn’t hear the panicked screams that usually happened whenever people got burnt. In fact, the man was striding down the street as if it was fairly normal to have fire licking off his chest and arms while leaving a trail of little embers behind him as he walked. He was a beacon of light that seemed to flare up every time he came out of the shadows and into the sunlight, as if the flames were stretching desperately for the ball of gas that was the center of their solar system.

It was the most fucking beautiful thing Mick’s ever seen in his life.

Mick didn’t stop staring until suddenly, there were two other guys crossing the street too, also equally on fire. The criminal wondered for a brief, very rare self-introspective moment, whether or not he’s finally cracked like everyone said he already had.

He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, pondering his state of sanity or if he ate something funny last night, when something occurred to him that had him immediately jerking his hand away to inspect it intently.

Much to his severe disappointment, no. His scarred, blurry hand was the same as always. Scratchy to the touch and frustratingly not on fire.

He sighed grumpily, irritated. With the shake of his head, Mick decided to question whether or not he’s lost it later and went back inside, half hoping and dreading that this-this, _whatever_ this was, would pass so he could go back to his life of crime without all this weird shit to deal with.

He stopped being in denial when he eventually ventured into human civilization three days later to get some groceries. Much to his stunned dismay, everybody – hell, even the baby in the stroller at aisle 2! – was burning hot. He was surprised that nothing has caught on fire yet.

With some resignation, he slotted in this new development into his life easily and tried to ignore how those flames called out to him and made him want to reach out and _touch_ to see if familiar pain would greet him. His self-restraint barely held it together as he briskly walked out with clenched fists that held the shopping bags like a lifeline to stop himself from assaulting the girl at the counter with light yellow flames caressing her barren arms like a siren’s calling.

He will deny until his dying days that he fled the dingy establishment like someone had lit his ass on fire.

Damn, he really hoped this wouldn’t be a problem later.

* * *

Two weeks passed and Mick, who never was one to have mental breakdowns or existential crises, accepted the flames as a part of his life now and carried on.

It wasn’t that hard. Other than the fact they were pretty to look at, the flames that everyone around him seemed to burn with was harmless.

(He had brushed past a kid in the middle of the street and had tensed in half-expectation for the scorching pain to bite his open hands that had minutely touched the flames coming from the flyaway jacket. Much to his surprise, it only felt mildly warm, almost comforting in the way the wisp of purple fire clasped onto his finger like a pinky’s promise before being ripped away as the oblivious passerby moved on.)

Interesting thing was, much to his fascination, everyone’s flames were multicolored, the whole rainbow spectrum. Mick’s gotten into the habit of sitting on a bench with his hood up – no need to get the cops all antsy and think he’s up to something – and just observe people as they pass by.

Most of his attempts of this at first had been in the more shady areas of town, wandering around and trying to categorize what exactly these flames could actually mean. He got bored quickly though when he realized that almost everyone in the slums had similar reddish flames, whether low on fume or flaring brightly as if screaming at the world to dare mess with them.

Mick had snorted at the discovery. Even on the inside, criminals were all dramatic idiots.

Though not all were like that. There were scatters of sick yellow and depressing blue that looked gloomier than a miserable rainy day. Not exactly the vibrant, living sparks that Mick enjoyed watching on a good burning day.

So though it was a risk, Mick sometimes made the trip to the middle of Central City, catching up on the news of what happened with the particle accelerator – he could connect the dots seeing how the flames appeared the exact moment the incident happened, he wasn’t stupid – and basically stalking colors like an obsessive crazy person.

Not that he wasn’t before.

Mick watched with interest how one six year old girl eating ice cream across the street from him had small green flames flickering every time she tossed her pigtails back. He noticed a while back that usually the younger you were, the more pure the flames were, as if life hasn’t smothered out those stubborn flames yet before becoming a darker, deeper color later. The texture differs for each person, something that puzzled Mick to not end.

Shaking his head, he tossed his head back and gulped down the still scalding black coffee down his thick throat before tossing it in the trash and leaving the scene.

He didn’t want anyone to think he was some sort of pedophile or something.

* * *

 

Mick was enjoying his drink at a low setting bar when he felt more than heard someone slide in next to him on the left. The excess warmth of the person’s flames slid against the side of his thick jacket from the person’s protruded elbow.

He couldn’t help but shudder. The change of temperature was still a bit jarring.

“You’ve been on good behavior lately.” Leonard Snart drawled in his signature theatrical manner.

Mick grunted and downed his drink. He still didn’t look at Len as he did.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t act dumb, Mick. You haven’t burnt anything down in nearly a month. That’s a new record for you.” Mick could almost feel the careful suspicion lurking underneath the calculative man’s tone.

“Maybe I’ve learnt some self-control. Like you.” Mick said mockingly, snorting a bit as he heard Len exhale a sigh through his nose. “Besides, thought you’d be more happy about this. You’ve been nagging me to stop for years.”

“Any change of behavior could affect how we work together and we can’t afford any new variables that could screw us over.” Len said frigidly.

Mick resisted the urge to scoff and finally turned to look at Len, ready to retort-

Then stopped, their heated conversation abruptly turning silent as Mick clamped his mouth shut and his eyes turned more intense than any fire he could ever hope to create.

Len’s fire was powerful yet concentrated, constrained tightly around Len like a hunting viper ready to strike. Mick never knew flames could shape into something almost predatory until this very moment, with cobalt blue flames that managed to look like spikes prickling around Len’s skin almost in warning not to get too close.

Len looked like he was under a sheen of icy armor camouflaging itself to look like prickly flames that was subtly waiting to strike at exactly the right moment.

It was a good look on the man.

Len’s brows furrowed, taken aback by Mick’s sudden silence and attention towards him. The flames rolled around Len in a restlessly, uneasy manner.

Seeing this, Mick shook out of his reverie and looked down at Len’s hands that were still on the table.

“Let’s just say I have something to play with for the time being.” Mick growled, getting impatient for the conversation to end. “So you got a job or not?”

Len didn’t say anything for a moment, Mick watching as the flames around Len’s hands flitted around indecisively before becoming steady like someone lowering the fire settings on the stove.

“Meeting’s going to be at Parkway Street.” Mick glanced up as Len handed him a piece of paper that had the address. Mick still found it strange how the paper didn’t turn to cinders when in contact with the fire. Len’s face was inscrutable, though his flames tellingly darkened a touch as if to add seriousness to his next words. “Don’t be late.”

And with that, Len stalked off and left him in peace.

Mick shook his head and flagged the bartender for another shot.

What a fucking drama queen.

* * *

The job went off without a hitch and Len was staring at Mick as if he was recalculating everything he knew about him and coming up with a blank on Mick’s new behavior.

For one thing, Mick hasn’t once brought out his lighter during the entire heist, focusing instead on keeping watch and having the sudden uncanny ability to know when someone was coming based on the fire that illuminated them in the dark. Not only that, Mick found no problem with working supposedly blind, especially with his partner running beside him and providing him with a constant light, not that Len knew it at all.

It was incredibly gratifying to see the wheels turn in Len’s brain as he tried to figure out his tricks, for once not knowing something Mick did.

Much to Mick’s added glee, he was slowly starting to figure out the other advantages being able to see other people’s flames were.

For one, Len was suddenly _a lot_ easier to read. Oh, the guy was still a closed off, cold bastard, but at least he couldn’t hide anything behind his icy demeanor when his flames spoke for itself. It was almost beautiful how expressive and honest people’s flames were, revealing thoughts and feelings they never would admit to in reality. The realization that Mick could now read Len better than he knew himself had him grinning like a loon for hours despite Len’s cautious looks.

 _Oh_ , payback was _sweet_.

Lisa visited afterwards to celebrate their successful heist, bombarding Mick with scarlet flames the color of thick lipstick crackling around her like pent up kinetic energy. Mick couldn’t help but marvel how the siblings’ flames were complete opposites of one another, yet fit each other so perfectly in the way they merged when Lisa rested a hand on Len’s shoulder in a strong grip along with a clever, sly smile. The reluctant half-smirk that was a tad soft on Len’s face along with how the blue flames seemed almost soothed in his sister’s presence said it all.

Mick was more surprised over the fact their flames didn’t turn purple when meeting, but decided that wasn’t really an important detail and continued on finishing his third beer on the Snarts’ living room couch.

* * *

Their increasingly successful heists made Len stop looking at him with wariness, the high of pulling off another burglary dismissing the issue for now.

Everything was going fine until it wasn’t.

Mick slipped up. Looking at other people’s flames and having fun figuring them all out had distracted him for a while, but not for long. The itch to burn something was back and he couldn’t help himself as he burnt down the building they were in, laughing like a maniac as the inferno rose higher than any person’s flame could’ve.

Len was yelling at him with increasing anger and something close to fear, unfamiliar rippling patterns spiking Len’s lone blue fire among the burning red that surrounded them on all sides. Mick wasn’t even paying attention when Len finally gave up and ditched him to get out of the collapsing structure.

Before he knew what was happening, Mick felt fire scorch at his chest as something fell on him.

Briefly, Mick wondered what his own flames looked like when melding with the real fire roasting his skin, before blacking out and knew no more.

* * *

 

“We’re done Mick.” Len stated with finality as Mick laid on the hospital bed, whole body covered with burnt scars that were irremovable as tattoos. Len’s fire was subdued and somber, Mick getting the feeling of genuine disappointment and almost apology that the flames spoke up for Len despite his cold front.

Mick didn’t say anything, just shut his eyes with grim acceptance and still as unapologetic as hell for screwing up on the job. He was, however, a twinge bit regretful at the thought of probably never seeing Len and his striking blue flames again that Mick has become intimately familiar with having by his side.

He felt Len carefully unlock the cuffs that held him to the bed, the flames holding his wrist surprisingly warm and comforting and everything Leonard Snart wasn’t, until Len ripped away and left Mick’s hand tingling from the sudden cold.

Long after Len left, Mick was nowhere to be found in the hospital either.

* * *

 

Mick wandered a lot after that.

He found a few bouncer jobs that kept the funds going and ended up in a lot of bars most nights to pick out fights that left him black and blue, though not as much as the other guy. Sometimes the temptation to steal something made his hands twitchy but he for once refrained. He was still on an uphill battle of recovery for his severe injuries and he was sleeping a lot more during the day than usual before exploiting the nights to light up a few buildings every week.

He’s been burning things a lot of things lately, even more than before the particle incident. He watched for hours how the fire would rise to the rooftop and how it would inevitably die out to leave a sooty mess behind, the aftermath leaving him dull and dead and even more unsatisfied than before. Like a vicious cycle that he knew instinctively was just going more downward as time went by.

Without knowing it, he’d gotten used to fire that wouldn’t hurt him if he touched it, that wouldn’t ever die and could live on forever as long as it’s carrier was still alive and breathing in oxygen to keep the fumes bright. It was annoying now how the smoke clogged his nose and watered his eyes as he watched the building collapse in front of him, distracting him from the hypnotic sight that was too stunning to last.

And that knowledge that there was something even better than what his arson habits could give him and that he lost it when he messed up that one job was driving him to the brink and teetering him to the edge.

Mick snarled and threw the empty beer bottle to the wall as fury towards himself ran hot through his veins. He snatched his jacket off the couch and stormed out of the room to find another bar where he could let out all his pent up frustrations.

* * *

 

The downward spiral halted to a complete stop when Len came back many months later, eyes glinting and familiar cobalt blue flames lighting up the darkened room.

“So are you in Mick? Or are you out?” Len asked, and though his whole attitude was completely nonchalant as if he couldn’t care less what Mick would say, his flames were shimmering nervously in anticipation.

For once, Mick had the advantage and control of the situation. He was the one who had all the cards and he knew that something had Len riled up enough to want to team up again. His flames had been spluttering and vibrating with something close to rare excitement when he came in before calming down, as if he was still high on adrenaline. He was already looking far ahead of everyone else, something holding the usually indifferent man’s attention long enough for him to be invested and search out Mick.

This time, Len needed Mick. Not the other way around.

Mick stopped playing with the small match he’s been fiddling with the entire conversation, taking in the big ass gun that hummed with energy that sent a shudder down his spine.

And for the first time in months, Mick felt something in him settle the moment Len’s familiar blue flames took up the room in a tightly controlled manner. Stirring and lying in wait and god, Mick didn’t realize how much he preferred this compared to any bonfire or manmade flame.

He got a taste of something glorious and he was greedy for more.

So with a vicious grin and a low chuckle, he said without hesitation, “Yeah buddy, I’m in.”

* * *

 

Slipping back into years of familiar dynamics was like coming home in a way. Len was still overbearing and immaculate as usual, but Mick could see something new growing inside of the usually careful man. Something that was looking for danger instead of trying to avoid it, high on power with the new weapons Len required and a new foe ready to challenge him called the Flash.

Mick had been doubtful when Len said the kid wore a red spandex and could run at the speed of light, but considering what he himself could do, he decided to hold back judgement. Besides, he’s been hearing some weird shit these days from people. He considered himself lucky he didn’t get some weirder power than seeing fire everywhere. Which, to him, was Christmas every day.

They planned out their next hit and Mick saw first-hand the full effect of what having the cold gun and what the Flash did to Len.

Len’s blue fire was sparking wildly, as if his flames were laughing at every ridiculous cold pun Len was spouting out to the blockaded police. Mick usually trusted Len’s judgement, but he could see the almost gleeful ecstasy that was literally radiating off the man, uncontrollable and nothing like the cool head Lenny usually was. His flames virtually towered over the police force whose mix of flames cowered behind their shields in fear. The man who plotted out every detail in every plan was jumping headfirst into the frying pan and Mick was loving every fucking minute of it.

How could he not when he’s never seen Len’s fire flare so high with energy that it was almost addicting to watch?

When it was his turn to shoot with firey flames shooting out of the weapon, spreading out hungrily like a monster ready to devour its prey, Mick was _lost_.

He snapped out of it when the lone indigo flamed black police officer shot the side of the heat gun, disabling it singlehandedly. With no choice, the criminals ran for it with Mick’s blood still singing from adrenaline.

* * *

 

They fought afterwards with tempers running high and old scars rubbing wrong against each other, but quickly made up in favor of defeating the Flash who Mick begrudgingly agreed could be a problem in the later future.

Besides, hotheaded or not, the months of inactivity made him itchy to do something, _anything_ , even if it meant listening to Len monologue and make melodramatic speeches just so he could hear himself talk.

And when they hit the streets with guns blazing, Mick finally got to meet the infamous Flash.

He... wasn’t what he expected. _At all._

Mick tried his best to hide how taken aback he was when he saw the almost blinding yellow flames that nearly seemed to vibrate around the kid and was glad that he had his goggles on. It was like looking directly at the damn sun.

And when the kid moved, well, Mick nearly had an aneurysm trying not to bark out a laugh when he saw the leftover flames that was left behind in the Flash’s wake like tire tracks from a car. The kid was literally a trainwreck just waiting to happen.

He was the little sparks left behind when two metals clashed against each other before dying immediately when hitting the floor. The speedster especially reminded him of that when he crashed into the ice wall Len set up, causing the speedo to tumble away like a rag dog with a pained cry.

By that point, Len was able to sense his misplaced growing amusement that he was doing his best to withhold and failing miserably at. Good god, Len had been pumped up to face _this_ pile of disaster just waiting to happen?

Well, Mick could say one thing. It’ll surely be fun to watch the chaos the kid’ll probably be at the center of in the later future. Sparks started fires, and the wildfire the kid was spreading was sure to be _epic_.

All good feelings died violently though when they ended up getting arrested and dragged to the police station firmly handcuffed. Mick could practically feel the smugness practically blistering off of the bastards and that only made him furiously struggle harder. He fucking _hated_ when people looked down on him, questioning his intelligence or abilities.

He happened to glance at one of the puppy dog officers watching him intently at the front and nearly froze in place when familiar yellow sparks taunted him as if cheekily waving good bye.

Mick stared at him and refused to gape and give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him so caught off guard.

The _fuck_?

That was all the time he was given to think this one stunned thought before someone from the back roughly pushed him forward, startling out a venomous snarl that nearly bit the man’s head off. His mind though was a million miles away, full of disbelief with his pride wounded drastically.

He got beat up by that stringbean of a kid who didn’t even look legal? Seriously?

Mick’s mood took a turn for the worse as humiliation and anger boiled his blood until he exploded in the truck that would send them to jail, pinning all the blame on Len who was curiously calm as a fucking cucumber with his blue flames barely faltering under Mick’s enraged words. It only fueled Mick’s rising anger.

That is, until their rescuer Lisa came into the picture, all coy smiles and glowing eyes who looked far too humored by her brother and his partner’s predicament. Her flames were flaring with open amusement and seeing her playful flames calmed him down by a lot of notches.

“Lisa, took you long enough.” Len smirked, blue flames wisping about in soft flickers as it always does when reuniting with Lisa’s more volatile scarlet flames.

“As if I could leave you to rot in jail. Who else would I annoy then?” Lisa teased lightly and okay, while Mick usually enjoyed watching them banter because their flames were enthralling to watch when circling each other like two halves of a whole, they really didn’t have time for this.

Mick grunted and pushed past between them, ignoring the warmth that embraced him for a split second at the contact. “Less talking, more escaping.” He grumbled. The two siblings shared a look before following too, leaving the scene of crime behind.

And when they got to base, Mick sat on the familiar Snarts’ couch and contemplated the notion of telling Len he had a good idea who the Flash was.

He thought about it, and decided not to. For once, he wanted Len to be driven crazy for not knowing something that he did. Take a page out of his own book.

Smirking, Mick downed his drink and took comfort in the knowledge that Len and Lisa were in the other room safe and sound, flames strong and resilient as always. Feeling tired after the long day, Mick stretched himself on the comfortable worn out furniture and promptly fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please comment on the way out and tell me what you think! Also, check out my tumblr page aerialflight and I hope I didn't mess up on Mick or anyone's character too much.


End file.
